


If Things Were Easier

by gwennolmarie



Series: Lifeline, Lifeblood [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Desperation, Dubious Consent, Feeding, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Crush, Vampires, uh, uh!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: “You just… Just let me know, okay?” Arthur urges, “When you need it.”





	If Things Were Easier

**Author's Note:**

> apparently this is a series now

John tries to put it off.

He really does.

He tries so _fucking_ hard.

Ignores it, even when his stomach starts to ache with hunger, regardless of the rations he sneaks in the dead of night.

In the dead of night when he’s still awake because he’s stopped sleeping.

Silently slips away from camp, finds good places to post up and gazes at the stars.

He ignores it, when they’re robbing a coach and he can’t aim because his hands are shaking so bad.

He ignores it when he starts to get dizzy.

Every time he stands, having to pause for two-too-many seconds just to regain his balance.

He can hear everyone’s heartbeat, when they’re close enough.

So he starts pulling away.

Sometimes he catches himself studying the gang’s necks but…

There’s no calling.

No _craving_.

But when he looks at Arthur?

Though he tries to avoid the older man.

His whole body feels like a magnet.

John has to physically stop himself.

Make the conscious _effort_ not to move closer.

He wonders if that’s significant.

He doesn’t know much about vampires.

Hosea, teaching both Arthur and him, had been adamant about believing in even the oddest of stories.

Never knowing when obscure knowledge might pay off.

John wishes he’d paid closer attention.

\--

It’s hell.

When John gets sent out with Arthur to collect a bounty.

He thinks about begging out.

Playing sick.

He feels _sick_.

He knows he won’t be of any help.

Not even able to shoot a _damned_ gun.

He, himself, feels damned.

\--

The bounty is easy.

The man gives himself up as soon as all four guns aim at him.

Even if two of them tremble.

Arthur notices.

Gives him a look that’s not-quite-concerned.

John thinks, at least.

They tie the man up.

Arthur does.

And they take the man into town.

\--

They ride halfway back to camp before Arthur grunts going over a bridge.

“Dammit,” The older man says, shifting in his saddle, “Let’s just make camp.”

“Okay,” John says as Arthur turns off the path, into the woods.

“You doing alright?” Arthur asks, hesitantly.

John realizes it’s the first time they’ve been alone since…

“Yeah,” He says, just as hesitantly.

Arthur hums like he doesn’t quite believe the younger man.

Leads them further into the woods anyway.

\--

They find a nice open spot, by a creek.

Arthur and John hitch Bo’ and Old Boy.

Each man laying out their bedroll.

Arthur builds a fire and John lays down immediately.

“Noticed you ain’t eatin’ anymore,” Arthur edges as he sets a can of beans at the edge of the fire to warm, “That a… A vampire thing?”

“I guess,” John shrugs, turning onto his back and looking up at the darkening sky, “I just ain’t hungry for food.”

“Okay,” Arthur says quietly.

Comes to sit on his bedroll next to John’s.

“I’ll take first watch,” Arthur says.

“You don’t gotta,” John says bitterly, “Doin’ even less sleepin’ now than eatin’.”

“You ain’t tired?”

“Not in that way.”

“Hm,” Arthur strips his gloves and uses one to pick up the can.

Blows into it and eats without a spoon.

John watches.

Jealous.

What if Arthur had been the one to get bit?

John almost chokes at the thought.

It’s so obvious.

The man would off himself before even thinking about…

About feeding.

John fights down the craving in himself.

Pointedly looks away from Arthur’s throat where he’s swallowing.

Arthur doesn’t enjoy food.

Always eats like it’s a chore.

John’s the same.

 _Was_ the same.

He turns away, watches the forest.

Watches the way they came for anyone else.

Or anything else.

Arthur finishes his meal and cleans out the can in the river.

Collects water and lets it boil.

Puts it to the side to cool.

“Keep the fire going,” Arthur says as he finally lays down.

Only feet away.

John swallows.

The thought of turning around and _just_ …

“‘Kay,” The younger mutters and crosses his arms over his chest.

Stays like that as Arthur starts snoring gently.

Stays like that even as his shoulder bearing his weight grows numb.

Stays that even as he grits his teeth and angry tears escape his eyes.

He refuses to shut them.

His chest hitches.

Little catches on repressed sobs.

He doesn’t know how loud the little hiccups are until he hears rustling behind him.

Shoves a palm against his mouth and freezes.

Shoulders up to his ears.

“You ain’t _alright_ ,” Arthur says firmly.

“It’s,” John starts, voice thick, “I can go longer, Arthur, I know I can.”

He hears Arthur sigh angrily behind him.

Finally closes his eyes and a sob racks him.

“Fuckin’,” He hears Arthur curse.

“I’m sorry,” John chokes out, “You’re right.”

Doesn’t want to see the anger on the older man’s face so he stays facing the woods.

Eyes shut tight.

“Please… Please, Arthur, I’m… willin’ to do anythin’,” John whispers.

Arthur has never heard such desperation.

Never.

Not even from men begging for their lives.

“Get over here,” Arthur says roughly.

Annoyance cloying his voice and it hurts.

It makes John want to take it all back.

Take back time and slip into the woods with Arthur asleep.

Not come back.

“John,” Arthur says.

It’s a command.

John sits up, roughly rubbing away the tears and keeps his head bowed as he shuffles closer.

Arthur’s hands encircle John’s upper arms and he’s tugged until he has no other choice but to straddle the older man’s stomach.

“John?” Arthur asks, voice softer but still carrying an edge.

“Yeah?” John whispers.

“You just… Just let me know, okay?” Arthur urges, “When you need _it_.”

John’s trembling, hard.

Arthur uses the grip on his arms to pull him down until he’s laying on Arthur’s chest.

When John was younger.

After he almost hanged.

He had horrible nightmares.

It wasn’t Hosea or Dutch he went to.

It was Arthur.

Arthur who held him close and told him he was safe, with them, he’d never have to worry about being strung up.

The gang would always save him.

“I meant it,” Arthur says quietly, “Every damn time I ever said it. You ain’t dyin’ on my watch.”

John hiccups.

Realizes his tears have stopped.

He feels at home.

In Arthur's arms.

“You… Uh… What’s it called?” Arthur asks awkwardly.

“What?” John asks hoarsely.

“Wussit called? What you gotta… what you’re gonna do?”

John shrugs slightly against the older man.

“Feedin’? I think,” John says quietly.

“You… You do _that_ ,” Arthur can’t quite bring himself to say it, “When you’re ready.”

John hates the relief that fills him.

He hates the eagerness he feels.

Arthur’s hold loosens.

So John sits up slightly.

Hands on Arthur’s shoulders.

Looks, finally, at Arthur’s eyes.

“Are you sure?” John asks.

Arthur rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Jesus, Marston, how many times I gotta say _it’s okay_?”

“Every time,” John says instantly.

Arthur looks a little taken aback.

John glances down to the older man’s neck just to see Arthur swallow hard.

Arthur pulls the same trick as before.

Tilts his head to expose his neck.

John inhales sharply.

Gasps.

Just like the first time.

He hears Arthur make a little huffing noise.

Looks up quickly to see the older man smirking, slightly.

“You…” John closes his eyes, “ _Arthur._ ”

“What?” Arthur asks in an innocent tone.

“That ain’t nice,” John hisses.

“You seem to like it,” Arthur teases.

John stiffens.

Looks away completely.

Feels Arthur tense under him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” The older man whispers.

“Doesn’t change the fact that it is like that,” John whispers back.

Feels shame burning in his chest.

He’s been in some-kinda-way over Arthur for a while.

The best man he knew.

The best man he knows.

Arthur shifts under him and drops his hands from where they’d stayed on John’s arms.

John looks down at the older man frantically.

Scared he might pull away.

Take it back.

Arthur’s blushing.

Honest-to-God.

John swallows and leans in.

Tilts his head to fit in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

Pauses.

Slips a hand up the other side of Arthur’s neck to cup the back of the older man’s head.

Lifts his head to get a better angle.

John feels the fangs.

Itchy as they slip from somewhere within his gums, settle in front of his human canines.

He presses his lips to Arthur’s neck and just like before the older man tenses.

And just like before John waits for him to relax again.

Get used to the pressure in such a vulnerable place.

And just like before all the voices of reason in Arthur’s brain are screaming at him.

Warning him.

That what John has become?

Has been turned into?

Is a much greater threat than any mortal he faces on the regular.

It’s different.

When John’s fangs sink into his neck.

He gasps.

His hands fly to John’s hips and he squeezes.

Bruisingly.

Burning.

Burning.

Burning.

But so much brighter.

Hotter like blue fire, rather than red.

He knows he makes a noise.

Knows it’s more desperate than he feels he has any right to be.

But, again, he can’t hear anything over his own blood rushing.

Arthur feels John pause.

Feels the younger man shift over him.

The fingers on the back of Arthur’s head press up.

Forcing Arthur’s neck up.

Forcing John’s fangs deeper.

Arthur knows he groans, then.

Feels the rumble in his throat.

“John,” He hisses.

He feels John murmurs something against the older man’s neck.

But he can’t fucking hear it.

He clenches his fists a little tighter on John’s hips.

“ _John,_ ” He says more firmly.

A warning.

Arthur feels John tense.

Mumble something he thinks might be an apology.

Retracts his fangs.

Pulls back completely.

Sound comes back to Arthur in a way that’s overwhelming.

His head starts to throb.

He misses the peace of it, instantly.

“Sorry,” John says desperately, “‘M sorry.”

“I ain’t sayin’ you can’t…” Arthur growls and closes his eyes.

John starts to move like he’s going to get off.

Arthur doesn’t let him.

Holds the younger man’s hips in place.

Squeezes.

Again.

“Sorry,” John repeats quietly, “I don’t… It’s harder than before.”

“Whatchu mean?” Arthur asks tiredly.

“I’m having to… It’s tougher? Like breakin’ through ice that almost melted then froze again,” John says miserably.

Arthur clenches his eyes shut tighter for a moment then opens them to look at the younger man.

John looks horrible.

Now that Arthur really looks.

Trembling, constantly, but subtly enough that you don’t notice unless you look hard enough.

So quick it seems like a trick of the light.

Or just your eyes not-quite focusing.

“Okay,” Arthur says stiffly.

“I can wait,” John says quickly, “I don’t _have to_.”

“No you can’t,” Arthur says firmly, “And I ain’t lettin’ you do this to someone else.”

“Not what I meant,” John says.

Resigned.

Tired.

Hopeless.

Arthur inhales when he gets it.

Can’t help but glance to their guns, between their bedrolls.

Wants to throw them in the creek if that’ll stop John…

“Just…” Arthur sighs.

Looks back at John who has curled in on himself.

Eye closed.

Bracing.

Like someone had lifted a hand to the younger man.

“I… Your shock… When that bastard…” Arthur swallows, “Musta outweighed the way it felt.”

John opens his eyes to look at Arthur, hesitantly.

“What?”

“It feels… It ain’t like _anythin’_ else,” Arthur says.

“I’m sorry,” John says, again.

Arthur rubs his thumbs over the younger man’s hips.

“It ain’t your fault,” Arthur tries to soothe.

John looks angry, suddenly.

Uncurls violently and clenches his hand in Arthur’s hair.

“It is! I was so fuckin’ stupid, Arthur! I didn’t _think_.”

“And I didn’t stop you,” Arthur says firmly.

John scoffs.

But his fingers under Arthur’s head relax.

The younger man bows his head.

Arthur rubs his thumbs over John’s hipbones again.

“I’m not sayin’ you can’t… feed,” Arthur says softly, stumbling.

“Then what are you sayin’?” John asks, just as soft.

“That it’s hard for me, to… control myself, while you’re doing it,” Arthur says, “That I don’t mean it.”

John’s whole body goes taut.

Arthur frowns at the younger man, starts to ask ‘What’s wrong?’

Doesn’t get the first sound out.

Doesn’t even part his lips before John moves lightning fast and has his fangs buried in Arthur’s neck.

“Fuck,” Arthur grits out and briefly pulls one hand away from John’s hips to hit his fist against the bone.

John just sinks his fangs in deeper.

Manipulates Arthur’s head as close so he can get the needle-like points in to the hilt.

He knows it’s unnecessary.

Arthur tenses under him.

Lifts him slightly, when the older man digs his heels into the ground and arches his back.

“John!” Arthur bites out.

Angry but…

Needful.

John’s stomach feels sour, suddenly.

Knows that he shouldn’t have done that.

That Arthur didn’t deserve the backend of his self-hatred over his stupid crush on the older man.

He pulls back.

Retracts his fangs.

When no blood follows he realizes he didn’t even hit the artery.

He huffs a self-deprecating laugh against Arthur’s neck.

“What the _hell,_ Marston?” Arthur hisses.

“You don’t wanna know,” John says bluntly.

Arthur must hear something in the younger man’s voice.

He doesn’t question further.

Arthur shifts under John and almost growls when he realizes he’s bulging his pants.

John’s fingers rub against the older man’s scalp, almost soothingly.

John moves slightly down Arthur’s neck.

Focuses to hear where the sound of blood moving is louder.

Presses the tips of his fangs into Arthur’s skin.

The older man’s hand recurls around John’s hip.

Arthur tries to brace against it.

It’s useless.

He hisses as the fangs sink in.

John hears the older man’s teeth grinding.

He moves his other hand down Arthur’s arm from his shoulder to the older man’s hand on John’s hip.

Arthur relaxes slightly when their fingers lace together.

John squeezes the older man’s hand as he finally pierces the vein.

Hears Arthur groan.

Right next to his ear.

Feels the vibrations through his fangs.

His lips.

John feels himself hardening in his pants and closes his eyes miserably.

Wonders if Arthur’s already like this, too.

He retracts his fangs.

Sucks.

Lets out his own little sound.

As blood floods into his mouth.

Feels Arthur repeatedly tense and relax under him.

Like the older man can’t decide which is better.

John feeds.

Tries to go slow, over-aware of his ability to do actual damage to Arthur.

If he drinks too much.

Gradually the blood flow into his mouth starts to slow.

He makes a confused little noise.

Pulls away to stare down at Arthur’s neck.

Arthur’s face is scrunched up and he’s biting down on his own lip.

The older man’s eyes open to look up at John.

Heated.

Confused as John feels.

“You done?” Arthur asks hoarsely, “That wasn’t even as long as the last time.”

“I’m fine,” John says quietly.

“That ain’t what I asked.”

“It _stopped_ …” John says, brows furrowed.

“Jesus,” Arthur breathes out shakily.

“I-,” John swallows, leans in.

Just rests his forehead on Arthur’s collarbone.

Feels the other man breathing unsteadily.

“Okay,” Arthur says and squirms under John, briefly.

John feels the hand not tangled in his own leave his hip.

Feels the older man’s wrist on the back of his thigh.

Frowns in confusion until he makes an estimate of where Arthur’s hand is and his eyes widen.

Staring blurrily at Arthur’s shirt.

The older man is _adjusting_ himself behind John.

John swallows loudly and Arthur pauses when he hears it.

The hand returns to John’s hip.

John closes his eyes.

Wants to scream with the knowledge that he has.

“Sorry,” Arthur mutters.

“S’fine,” John says, barely.

Voice high and tight.

“It ain’t,” Arthur says firmly.

“Shut up,” John begs.

“John,” Arthur starts to protest.

Doesn’t want the younger to think this can go further.

Then John sits up slightly and Arthur feels the younger man’s hardness press into Arthur’s stomach.

“ _Shut up_ ,” John repeats.

Pleads.

“Fuck,” Arthur bites out and feels John’s hand squeeze his lightly.

“Fuckin’ _Christ_ ,” Arthur says and sits up violently.

John flinches back and his hips slide down Arthur’s stomach to sit in the older man’s lap.

His hand leaves Arthur’s hair to catch himself on the older man’s knee.

So he doesn’t topple back completely.

He stares up at Arthur.

Swallows against the fear building in him at the fury on the older man’s face.

Doesn’t realize it isn’t directed at him.

But, rather, inward.

“Do you need more?” Arthur asks in such a dangerously low voice that John finds himself shaking his head rapidly, before he’s even processed the question.

Arthur stares him down.

Studies him.

John tries not let his fear show but can’t seem to stop staring, wide-eyed, at the older man.

Arthur’s face softens and the older man looks away.  
  
“You ain’t never been a good liar,” Arthur mutters.

“I really don’t have to,” John says quickly, “Not anymore.”

Arthur’s hand in John’s squeezes back.

“You damn well better come to me,” Arthur says, “Next time.”

“Okay,” John says.

He can feel Arthur under him.

Hard.

Hot.

Pressing into his ass.

He wants so desperately to just…

Tilt his hips.

Press their confined cocks together.

He doesn’t.

He shifts slightly.

Hears Arthur’s sharp intake of air.

John awkwardly crawls off.

Waits until the last minute to let go of Arthur’s hand.

But Arthur holds on.

Doesn’t meet his eyes, though.

“I mean it. Don’t let it go this long,” The older man says softly.

John doesn’t say anything.

Stares.

Waits for Arthur to release his hand.

As soon as the pressure lessens, he bolts.

John stands as quickly as possible and walks as fast as he can into the woods.

Gets a good dozen feet into the darkness and covers his eyes with his hands.

Mentally kicks himself.

Wishes he could do something…

Anything to get rid of this crush.

This _longing_ he has for Arthur.

Now in more ways than one.

He hears a thump behind him and thinks it’s Arthur flopping back to lay down again.

Keeps his eyes covered, rubbing his face.

Until he hears the first hiss of breath.

Then a bitten off groan.

He slowly pulls his hands away from his eyes.

Even if he turned around he wouldn’t be able to see the older man to confirm his suspicions.

Not through the thick brush that scratched up his arms on the way out here.

He hears another quick gasp and feels himself tense.

Feels the tugging in the base of his gut.

The throbbing of his own length.

He falls to his knees.

Shoves one hand against his mouth as the other hand pulls himself out.

Bending a few of the clasps that try to slow him down.

He doesn’t even need to spit into his hand.

Just uses the wetness dribbling from his slit to slick the way.

Listens for Arthur’s every little strained inhale.

The vibrating, not-quite-a-groan of each exhale.

He barely muffles a whine into his palm.

Hears silence in response.

\--

Arthur’s eyes fly open at the sound.

Realizes that the younger man didn’t go quite as far as he thought.

He stares into the dark of the woods.

Hears it, when he focuses enough.

The quiet, wet sound.

A repeated hitting of flesh against flesh.

Arthur closes his eyes at the heat that rockets through him.

The heat that his hips thrusting into his hand.

“Shit,” He curses lowly.

Hears the whimper from the woods in response.

“Shit,” He repeats, a little higher in pitch.

Wants so badly to seek out the younger man.

To have John back in his lap, fangs in his throat.

He spills over his fingers at the thought.

Muffles a long, low groan into his hand.

Hears the desperate, keening reply.

Damns himself.

Gets up and goes to the creek to clean himself off.

Comes back to John.

Already curled up on his own bedroll.

Facing away, into the woods.

Arthur lays down on his.

Goes to sleep.

Repeatedly wakes up in the night and forces himself to remember John is awake when his hand starts to unconsciously move lower.

**Author's Note:**

> happy b-day, K ;)


End file.
